Elysium

Hannah Moss || closed; affiliated with panopticonrpg

[hannahmossxo]

ABOUT: ELYSIUM

Oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued.

SKELETON || INTERVIEW || HEADCANONS || PINTEREST

BASICS

Full Name: Hannah Christina Sophia Moss Age: 37 Birthdate: 14th February 1987 Place of Birth: Cambridge, England Gender: Cis woman Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Pansexual Marital Status: Divorced (pending) Power: invisibility

APPEARANCE

Height: 5'8 Eye Colour: A deep, dark brown that's only one-two shades away from being charcoal-black Hair Colour (natural): A dark, oak-brown Hair Style: Mid-length, naturally wavy Notable Features: Pale, fine-line scars on her right knee from multiple surgeries; a small, faded tattoo of a bird on the back of her left ankle (which she always hides with either socks or make up) Piercings: None

BEFORE ISLAND

Location: Brighton Occupation: Private tennis coach (previously an Olympic medalist) Education: Psychology MSci (Hon) from UCL, which she's never once had to use, but her parents had insisted on her taking Parents: Sebastian (professor of Medicine in Cambridge University specialising in psychiatry) and Francesca Moss (nee Romano, a renowned Italian opera singer) Siblings: Hugh (46, human rights lawyer), Charles (44, partner in one of the Big4 consulting firms) and Benedict (39, hedge fund manager). A younger half-sister which does not exist in Hannah's world Hobbies: Tennis (primary), art (painting; secondary)

ISLAND THOUGHTS

- Hannah would likely spend her time either in the hub socialising with others (when she knows that Akhila isn’t present), or at the obsidian beach (but only when she’s feeling particularly overwhelmed / on edge) - She is allergic to dark, dingy spaces as well as any form of overgrown wilderness (bugs piss her off, the mere thought of hiking makes her gag), so you wouldn’t catch her dead in any caves or amidst the tall trees surrounding the tower - If asked to help with gathering food, she’ll choose fishing over hunting. this is not because she feels bad for fluffy things (she never really cared for animals to begin with) but because, again, she’d rather walk into the mouth of the island’s dormant volcano than willingly go somewhere infested with bugs - Seeing as she can no longer play tennis and that was her main source of stress relief, she’ll be either jogging or swimming instead

[hannahmossxo]

GEM: RED AMBER

The stone on Hannah's wrist is a brilliant red amber. It is a shard of ancient fire, trapped in time yet forever burning. It pulses with the deep, rich hues of a setting sun devoured by the very earth that it warms, swallowed whole to be transformed into a jewel of blood and flame. In its depths, you see the echoes of forgotten passions, the embers of desires that once blazed with fierce intensity. It is the colour of love at its most dangerous, the kind that consumes and devours, leaving nothing in its wake but ashes and a profound sense of loss.

There's something small stuck inside the amber, but each time Hannah tries to make out its shape, all that she can see is her own reflection.

RED AMBER: Red amber symbolises intense passion, desire, and the enduring fire of the human spirit. It is a stone of deep warmth and vitality, evoking the energy of a flame that never fades. As a crystallised essence of ancient fire, red amber serves as a reminder that some passions are eternal, offering a constant source of warmth, light, and life even in the darkest moments. PRINCESS CUT: because that's what Hannah Moss is a cut known for it's beauty, sharpness and brilliance. Princess cut amber can only be custom-made due to amber's soft nature, but requires careful maintenance as it's more prone to chipping and scratching.

[hannahmossxo]

location: the hub with: @lindiwe-in-camelot

Hannah had recognised her --- an uncommon occurrence for someone who is used to being recognised, rather than doing the recognising. Pride and privilege are blinding, after all, and Hannah... well ---- she could walk into a table and still perceive it bowing.

"You're that woman --- we met before." She calls out from her perch on one of the benches at the Hub, the gentle ocean breeze a generously paid actor as it continues to play with her long hair. Her brows furrow as she tries to pick out that evening amongst the myriad of other, similar events --- a blur of lights, dull conversations and overflowing champagne. Her ex-wife at her side, a cold and unyielding presence, an iceberg amidst the sea of ------

"Cambridge College alumni charity gala... 2016 I think?" But she doesn't think, she knows. She even remembers the time --- early after 9pm, soon after she checked the time and begun her hunt for Akhila to finally fucking leave, but instead getting pulled into dull conversations with people she was convinced were made out of cardboard.

What Hannah also remembers vividly, is this woman's husband. The memory of him makes her nose scrunch up in pure disgust. "Your husband stuck on this island too, or have you finally managed to shake him off?"

[darcyxpalmer]

Darcy originally, on the first day, went into the warehouse to take a closer look around everything that was in there, but then Gael was there and she got distracted by their conversation and she was curious just how much was stacked in there for them to use, so she figured another look arouhnd wouldn't hurt.

She was certain others have already mapped everything out - she wouldn't have been surprised if Gael already built a log system for all the books and other entertainment elements and started a library out of them -, but she was curious and just wanted to see things for herself.

And this time around she was alone in there, as she stepped in, so no distractions.

Until there was a voice claiming they mapped everything already, and Darcy whipped her head around - there was nobody she could see inside, nobody that was trying to come behind herself, but it also didn't sound like the voice coming from the speakers on the island. And why would a speaker speak like somebody else residing on the island anyway, especially considering previous messag--

bump

She's been edging inside the warehouse and suddenly she walked right into-- something. Something where there was supposed to be nothing.

"What the hell?!" she exclaimed, reaching over and slapping around with her hand, only to be met with-- something. Again. And again. "What the hell?!" she echoed her own words again, taking a cautious step back. "What is going on here?!"

[hannahmossxo]

At first Hannah had decided to be patient. Perhaps this strange woman was simply still in shock after witnessing the grand saltpile explosion that was --- what was her name again? Marcie?

However, when this same woman started slapping her, first her arm, then her shoulder, Hannah's patience began to fray, and fast. "Do your eyes exist for decoration or is not using them a choice?" Hannah growled, baring her teeth and closing the distance between them, their faces inches away. "Why do you keep slapping me?! Are you unwell?!"

However, something snapped inside her mind when she'd heard her ---- and then she'd felt it, the telltale signs of invisibility. The lightheadedness, the loss of ---

"...Fuck. You can't actually see me, can you?" Hannah groaned, running her hands through her hair before stepping away. "You're not crazy, I'm just invisible. My name's Hannah."

Taking another step back from the bizarre woman, Hannah adds, "And if you slap me again, there will be consequences."

[alexpanganiban]

location: near the warehouse costar: @hannahmossxo

The fitness and sports equipment that Alex had spotted inside the warehouse weren't the most important or interesting things in there, but while he was taking a brisk strut around, pondering everything that he'd learned and everyone he'd met thus far, it did get him thinking: what was one of the ways to build instant, initially artificial, but increasingly fanatic camaraderie among the group?

The answer, of course, was friendly athletic competition.

Tennis rackets and a whole lotta balls had been in the warehouse, and Alex was certain there could be something done with those. Or the single volleyball (though if it got wrecked that would be the end of that), or the shuttlecocks that lacked badminton rackets to accompany them. He was walking steps to try and recall the dimensions of a regulation court when he noticed somebody nearby and looked up, with a sheepish and disarming grin.

"Heeeyy-oo," Alex said. "I'm Alex Panganiban. You caught me trying to remember how many paces I had to run in order to lob an opponent's short serve deep into their court."

[hannahmossxo]

Hannah spent the last hour wandering around like a particularly unfriendly ghost, bored out of her wits. In the last 24 hours she's seen too much, heard too much, and met too many frankly bizarre people. Not to mention the fact that her ex-wife is also haunting this island, probably taking root in the Medicenter. Figures.

When she saw Alex rummaging through the piles of sports equipment ranging from usable to 'absolutely not in your life', Hannah cocked her head, stirrings of recognition lifting the curtain of perpetual fog in her brain. She's seen his face before. Well, not in-person like she is now, but on screen --- at a time when she was not only miles away from this godawful island, but also still wearing her wedding ring. Yikes.

"I know who you are. I used to watch We The Survivors with ---" Hannah's mouth snaps shut then, refusing to finish that sentence. Instead, she shakes her head and waves her hand at the pile of equipment ---

"Think you can set up a court with this pile of junk?" Her eyes narrow as she inspects his findings closer. Actually, he very well could. Well, doesn't that add a spring to her step!

"I'm Hannah. Hannah Moss." She looks over at Alex appraisingly, before pointing at his feet. "Well that depends -- how fast are you, how long are your strides and where do you want to start? If we assume that, on average, your stride length is about ninety centimeters and where you're standing now is your baseline, it would take roughly 20 paces to reach the net from the baseline and around 10 paces from mid-court." She paused, unsure if anything that just came out of her mouth actually made sense to a normal person. So, she sighed and added, "To make a long story very short, you’d typically need to run about 5 to 20 paces to lob an opponent’s short serve deep into their court."

"Want me to help you set up? If we can pull this shit together, I'll even play a match with you ---- to help you figure out exactly how many paces you will need. If you get lucky."

[selinswonderland]

There was this sudden nervousness that seemed to set in as soon as the other woman spoke up after Selin offered her friendly request. Usually she wasn't very put off by people if they reacted in a way that she wasn't expecting, but the drawl in her voice, the curiously judgmental look in her eyes, Selin couldn't help but be flustered. The follow up laugh didn't particularly help those feelings subside either. She still kept a smile on her face, trying not to show her discomfort, or that she might doubt her plan was even a good one anymore.

But Selin was a teacher, and if she had to present to the woman the woman what she was thinking in a way to persuade her to help, surely she could pull that off. She had done more than enough public speaking to perform with confidence.

"Right, well. I know everyone probably feels scared, and frantic, and judging by the small turnout of people here," she gestured to the few scattered people around The Hub, a lot less people then when they all wanted to gather for the feast. "Probably most people wanna hide out somewhere and be alone. But I think, in the face of something horrific and scary, we can't separate ourselves from others. I think…in a situation like this, community is everything."

Coming from a big family, Selin didn't know much in the way of privacy, unless you were being freezed out for doing something wrong, you always had someone around. Most times it was frustrating, having no time to yourself, someone always being in your business, but when you needed comfort and a pick me up, it was nice to know you could depend on someone.

"I wanted to get everyone together for a feast of our own. Nothing suspiciously made and served by some unknown person, thing, whatever. Something for all of us that are stuck here to do together, to remember we're not alone. And I know there's a fishing spot that's full of fish that are extremely easy to catch. And I thought it would be nice to have company and an extra pair of hands to collect as much as possible so everyone can eat as much as they want." Selin grinned, hoping this explanation would be convincing enough.

[hannahmossxo]

There's something cold and dark that blooms in her chest. It poisons the lush fields of her soul, its touch wilting the wildflowers and forcing the birds from the sky. Dark hands, her hands, clutching at roots that could no longer give birth to the sunflowers that once bloomed in her heart. Family, community -- it was ironic how she came from an affluent, gated community which felt like anything but -- simply a gathering of strangers who put cameras on every inch of their property, barbwire smiles doing their best to keep curious strangers away. And family... well, that's a whole other pond full of sharks.

Hannah listens to the woman's explanation without interruption, her mind whirring, wandering ---

"Do you really think cooking some fish would be enough?" She asks, incredulous, but cautious not to dismiss her idea outright. Maybe it wasn't about filling your stomach, maybe it was more about ---

Busy hands, empty mind. Hannah was no stranger to that; her days at the tennis court after yet another fight with Akhila, hours upon hours upon hours of screaming as she practiced to... what? Hold her tongue? Still her temper? No, it was a way to escape, to allow her ire roam unimpeded, a wolf unfurling after spending months locked away in a dog's cage.

Hannah runs her hand through her hair, feels the knots and the tangles, reminds herself that she is now, too, someone unmoored and alone, seeking ----

"Fine. I'll come help you." She finally concedes before getting up. She looks away into the distance for a moment, allowing her mind to wander once more, before turning back to face this strange woman, regarding her with a gaze that was more akin to a wolf than a human. "But just so you know -- I don't fish, so you'll have to teach me. And --" Hannah raises her left hand, her wrist carefully cradled by the makeshift sling, "My wrist is fucked. If you're still happy for me to join you, then let's not waste time. Getting lost on this island after dark, especially considering the last twenty four hours, is very low on my bucket list."

[hannahmossxo]

Status: closed for @darcyxpalmer Location: The Warehouse

She is rummaging through the stacked crates, looking for something to use for her sprained wrist. Of course an easier option would just be to visit the medicenter but she's keenly aware that this is the likeliest place for Akhila to be and... too much has happened since for her to rush into opening THAT particular can of worms. Well, at least not until she's exhausted all other options and dropped dead.

Because THAT isn't at all dramatic. Yeah.

She's so wrapped up in her own delusions the task at hand that she doesn't notice that thinking of Akhila had triggered another episode of what she likes to call cosmic fuckassery, or, in other words, another invisibility spell.

The good news? Whatever she doesn't know won't freak her out.

The great news? Someone's just walked in.

Hannah continues to rummage through the last remaining box without glancing at whoever came into the warehouse after her. Her brows furrow a little at the lack of a greeting (manners, her mother's voice reminds her and yes, she's going to ignore that too), but she shrugs and offers -

"I've gone through pretty much everything here, so if you tell me what you're looking for, I might be able to help."

[selinswonderland]

Status: closed for @hannahmossxo Location: The Hub

After losing access to the well prepared feast given to them, and being down one member of their decently sized group, Selin had an idea to bring a little community to this new life of theirs. She remembered from her exploration of the fishing hole with Lokni that it was incredibly easy to catch fish there. The cooking part might be a little extra work, but the thought of bringing everyone together with a wide spread of seafood prepared by the group seemed more welcoming than the feast given to them by whoever brought them here.

Doing this by herself though, it seemed like a big task, and she thought it would help bring her closer to the others if she got some help along the way. So The Hub was her first stop, to see if there was anyone she could wrangle into taking the walk with her. Her teacher mode seemed to be activated as she scanned through the group of people in the area, and deciding to pick the woman who seemed to be sat by herself for now.

"Hi, hope I'm not bothering you. I was wondering if you would be interested in helping me with something? I thought it would be nice to prepare a little something for everyone to lift our spirits, but don't know if I can do it all by myself. Do you mind?"

[hannahmossxo]

For the first time in... years, actually, Hannah is sitting quietly by herself, lost in thought. She's drowning in the sea of voices, all hers, none clear enough to understand. Overlapping; soft, then loud, then soft again, trying to force her into action while keeping her pinned to the bench - she'd laugh if she could. Truly, she must be losing her fucking mind.

Soft footsteps pull her out of her reverie, but Hannah still feels like her head is stuck underwater as someone is here, trying to talk to her, trying to engage someone who -

"What?" She muttered, finally looking up at the one daring to intrude on her thoughts (perhaps she's even a little bit thankful, but she's too high strung to bare anything but her teeth). It takes another second for Hannah to process what was said, and she barks out a laugh, incredulous -

"Well whatever you have in mind MUST be spectacular, considering our current predicament." What best conveys 'I hope none of you explode next' -- she's sure there's a flower for that.

Regardless, she must admit she's a little intrigued. So she nods at the space next to her and leans back, crossing her legs ankle over knee. "Tell me what you have in mind first -- and then we'll see."

[zaidshair]

location: one of the stupid bungalows @hannahmossxo

When Maria...exploded, Zaid ran.

His first irrational thought was that they were being bombed, and all he could think was to get off the beach now, now, NOW!!! and get to safety. Somewhere under cover - the bungalows were right there.

He sagged against one of the porch posts to catch his breath, then stumbled into the austere little hut to mute the screaming and yelling going on outside. No sounds of bombs (what did a bomb sound like, anyway? Zaid wasn't sure, but he was sure it was loud) but that didn't mean it wouldn't happen again.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry like sand. Like the the sand from Maria's explosion flew into his mouth? Zaid staggered to the kitchen and turned on the tap, ducking his head under it to gulp down water. A bit of a choke, when it looked like someone appeared near the threshold of the front door.

"Who's there? Don't explode on me!"

[hannahmossxo]

She was resting and it was quiet, peaceful. Serene. After the whole ordeal of coming to this island (if THAT was even the right word to use here), a bit of quiet was all that she craved. To crawl into a dark corner, nurse her sprained wrist, and pretend like none of this was real. Alas, while Lady Luck did cherish her... she was far from being the favourite child (figures).

And then, just as she had managed to settle down in the darkness of one of the bungalows, the screaming started. Visceral, it raked down her spine with wolf-like claws, adrenaline howling in her blood. She jolts upright, too awake and yet not lucid enough to fully grasp the situation.

Run, run...

Her mind reels and she hops off the bed, forcing herself to slow down as she makes her way to one of the windows to look outside. In her haste to find answers, what she doesn't quite realise is that she can no longer see her own reflection in the clear glass.

When a man practically throws himself inside the dark bungalow, she reels back, caught by surprise.

"What the fuck is going on out there!? Who are you!?" She recovers and snarls, storming over to him, obsidian eyes sparking with fire and brimstone. Her father's anger was a dear friend, one that made her forget all about her sprained wrist for the moment. "What do you mean don't explode!?"

She's right next to him now, close enough that if she were to turn her head just a little, she'd see that the mirror right before them had only a single reflection - his own.

[hannahmossxo]

INTERVIEW: ELYSIUM

Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. 

“Do you think with your heart or your brain?”

What a stupid question, she thinks but smiles still, choosing benevolence over violence. “No one thinks with their heart; it’s not wired for cognitive function.” She’s being pedantic, not unlike a certain someone she’s really looking forward to never seeing again. The thought makes her smile falter, displaying a momentary crack in the well-maintained facade. But Hannah is nothing if not consistent in her (obsessive) desire to strive for effortless perfection, and so she rights her smile once more, her eyes a shining obsidian, “but I am more…emotional than emotionless. my ex-wife can attest to that.” Her smile widens then — “Or maybe I should say could attest, seeing as she isn’t here.” We win some, we lose some, but at least she doesn’t have to see Akhila’s sour face anymore, how fortuitous.

“What is the last thing you remember before arriving on the island?”

Drip… drip… dri — Cold hand reaches for the tap. A gentle sound of ice shifting in liquid, sliding softly against a pale knee. The scars are faint now, but here, in the quiet darkness, each pale line lights brighter than the moon. Languidly, long finger taps against the metal — silence. Cold eyes fixated on the blank, white ceiling. The body is motionless despite the chill of the water. The right arm shifts, flexes, muscles constricting, expanding. Boundless yet bound still, just blood and bone and sinew and an emotion the brain cannot quite name. Doesn’t want to. It’s petulant in its need for denial. ‘You are Hannah Moss and people like us, we don’t lose.’ A hand gripping the right shoulder, familiar, iron-like and unyielding. Moss. The body shrinks under the touch, smaller, smaller — ‘Get up. try harder. don’t embarrass me again, girl.’ Moss. A name, a noose, a gilded cage.  What a shame that the bird stuck inside cannot sing. Moss. She is a collection of parts stitched together yet none of them are actually hers. Her right arm and her legs belong to her father; a man of few words with a dead dream and eyes the colour of the Mariana trench. Boundless, endless, and cold. It’s the one part of him that she had inherited, the only child of four with eyes the colour of charcoal. Her torso and face belong to her mother, a reminder of the time that she, too, existed without the weight of five decades. She's beautiful still; golden curls resting softly across regal shoulders as she glides from function to function with the effortless grace of a woman born to be bowed to. Unlike her, Hannah is clumsy and loud; always seeking to make space in the rooms that she enters, yet the crowd has never parted for her. In this body that mirrored her mother, Hannah had always felt like a guest. “I was…” reminiscing naked in an ice bath, “...sleeping.”

“Do you think you will be remembered or forgotten?”

The silence is deafening.  She's pacing like an animal too small for its cage, the obsidian of her eyes filled with fire and brimstone. She is mercurial, quick to anger and cut, quicker still to savour the blood with a placating kiss. Love was never as easy as freeing the butterflies in her gut, but sometimes she does wonder if it was love that peeled her lips back in a snarl — ‘And what do you suggest?’ Bitter, bitter, always so damn bitter. She hates this, hates the way that her fingers itch to pull at her hair. A reflex. A weakness. She's a petulant child throwing a tantrum again, biting the hand she once swore only to kiss. ‘You always have the right answer to everything!’ They are fighting again but it’s nothing new, they fight all the time now. This bedroom, once warm and familiar, reduced to nothing more than a boxing ring. And Akhila? Well, when was the last time she looked at Hannah directly? She’s silent again, thinking, always thinking but never sharing — it drives Hannah insane. Akhila, Akhila; her name burns at the back of her throat like whiskey. It's cold, and enough to anchor Hannah back to reality, to resume existing in a room that brings her nothing but pain. And so she pauses, then comes to a stop directly in front of the problem. ‘Don’t go quiet on me Akhila!’ always so fucking quiet — ‘Fuck!’ She’s loud, so fucking loud. Always so eager for a good fight. ‘You are the issue here.’ Akhila, however, gives her none. In face of Hannah’s cruel words, chosen so deliberately to cut and to scar, Akhila is unmoving and silent. A marble statue carved by a particularly loathsome sculptor. Maybe she should find and gut them next.  ‘Choosing yourself over our marriage —’ somewhere in the deep, dark nethers of her mind, the voice of reason tells her that she, too, has been guilty of the crime she’s punshishing Akhila for. It speaks in the way that Akhila does, so Hannah guillotines it first. Today’s court is her own, she is both the judge and the executioner.  Hannah pauses to look, really look at Akhila then. Like a predator she’s gauging her reaction, looking for the softest spot to strike, fangs bared for the world to see. Or at least their immediate neighbours… no wonder they stopped greeting them a while ago. But she finds nothing in Akhila’s calm gaze, and something sharp begins to carve the space for guilt to nest deep in her guts. She takes a knife to it, too. ‘ — and don’t look at me like that.’  — ‘What do you want Hannah?’ and finally the statue speaks, call the fucking Pope — we’re witnessing a miracle!  Unfortunately, it only serves to annoy Hannah further. She was waiting for placating words, for even a hint of self-flagellation… and yet Akhila is nothing but practical, even in a situation like this.  So Hannah grinds her teeth, takes a calming breath and steps away. At this moment she resembles an uncoiling snake, bored by a prey that puts no effort into freeing itself. Hannah knows what she wants; she wants tearful apologies, she wants to be worshipped like a god that chose to bestow her blessings on an ill-deserving mortal — — but a god she is not, and the love she envisions is a hair’s breadth away from being classed as an obsession.  (So maybe she should be thankful she married Akhila and not one of her stalkers? But thankful she is not, only slighted by the fact that the woman she gave herself to has never loved her in a way that really mattered.) ‘I want you gone.’ The anger would outlive her yet. “You must not know who I am if you think I’ll ever be forgotten.” Hannah crosses her legs, right ankle over left knee, and laughs in a way that speaks of decades of living with the kind of privilege only the top 1% can afford. Quietly, in the back of her head, her mother’s voice chastises her for sitting so crudely, but it only serves to widen her smile — “I’m an Olympics champion,” that never fucking won a single match in Wimbledon, how fucking embarrassing, “no one’s forgetting me anytime soon.”

[hannahmossxo]

SKELETON: ELYSIUM

Name: Hannah Moss

Age:37

Gender: Cis woman

Power: Invisibility

FC: Emmy Rossum

You’d felt special from the moment you were born, the crowned princess of the Moss family who could do no wrong. You’ve spent your early life always getting what you want, regardless of how others had felt about it, which had shaped you into a monster. Persuasive, spoiled and rotten, the word ‘no’ has never existed in your dictionary. For you, it has always been a ‘yes’ or a ‘yes, but later’.

When you had injured your knee during a particularly bad tournament, it felt as if you were stuck in a windowless room and someone had just turned off the light. Without your ability to play tennis at a level that kept you as a favourite in the eyes of your mother… Tennis has always been your life, you don’t know how to do anything else. But you knew that you were born lucky, and nothing had made you believe in it more than meeting a beautiful surgeon who had pulled you out of that darkness with her skilled, practised hands. Akhila had given you a chance to remain who you are, and in return you had given her all your devotion (truly?).

Fifteen years later you took off your ring and, in a bout of aimless rage, tossed it out together with all the happy memories you had shared. It didn’t hurt, it didn’t make you feel compelled to claw out your heart. Your brother said it was because you weren’t wired the right way to feel love the right way, but you laughed at his words, and tossed your phone into the pond you had just jogged by. It was the first time he was wrong in his assessment of you, for how can someone without a single flaw, be so incapable of love.

You hadn’t spoken to him for six months after that, a punishment for being so damn blind.

CONNECTIONS:

ARRAKIS: If you were to say aloud what you’d felt for Arrakis it would be anger. Fury. The woman you chose to give your heart to (truly?) ended up nothing but a fucking disappointment. What you won’t tell the world, however, is the reason for your anger. You’re angry because Arrakis was the first to make you want to open your mouth to beg rather than command. She was the order to your chaos and now that she is gone, you’re lashing out like a petulant child that’s lost her favourite toy. However, you’ll slit your own throat before admitting this, and then blame the knife for being too sharp, too cold and too cruel to commit such an act.

CAMELOT: You haven’t known Camelot for long. In fact, she was nothing more than a faint presence blinking in and out of existence somewhere outside of the shores of your memory. What you did remember, however, was the pity you had felt (however brief) when you had the misfortune to meet her nasty little dog of a man. Truly, one cannot account for taste. She was pretty if not a little meek, a presence a little too keen to remain unnoticed in the shadow of the man she chose to chain herself to. You didn’t know her enough to judge, or, rather, were not invested enough to open your mouth at the time. But you’re both on this island now, so you’re a little more inclined to pay attention. A pity, really, because you’re not built for empathy, so all you can do is mock.